


Resolve

by iWantMyDrumfredBack (BornBlue)



Series: Drummond Is Not Dead [14]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Drumfred fanfix, Edward Drummond Lives, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Our puppies are angsting, You know he does because the show done did us wrong, but they're getting there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 22:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14603070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BornBlue/pseuds/iWantMyDrumfredBack
Summary: Alfred determines to find out what's wrong, while Edward tries to adjust to their circumstances.Can they get past this...?





	Resolve

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: This is a new (and hopefully improved) version of the previous installment 14. It includes expanded emotional exploration and a new character who brings a plot advancement.

* * *

It was half past eight, and he was still waiting. He took a draw off his cheroot and swirled the glass of whiskey he was nursing, wondering whether it was wise to torment himself with things that reminded him of Edward.

Alfred had decided to use the code he'd come up with in order to meet. This wasn’t precisely the kind of emergency he’d had in mind when he had concocted it, but there had not been a peep from Edward in two days. He was growing desperate for assurance.

 

It all came down to the fact that he really did not know what to make of Drummond’s sudden departure from the palace two days before. He had a rather bad feeling about it all, but was trying his damnedest not to jump to conclusions. He felt it important to meet him face to face—and alone—in order to get to the bottom of the matter. He simply could not allow himself to entertain the idea that Edward might turn his back on him now, not after their declarations of love and glorious night of passion. It had all been so perfect—like a dream he would never have allowed himself before. Whatever injustices and indignities they must face outside their own private world—and those were indeed ample—Alfred now knew without doubt that it was worth it. It was worth it to seize those moments of bliss… worth it to be truly known, soul and body… to be loved and desired and cherished as they loved and desired and cherished each other. Alfred had never intended to be so deeply intertwined with Edward, but now that he was, there was no going back.

This sudden uncertainty as to whether Edward was of a like mind was downright torturous.

 

Alfred had thought he might hear from him later that day, but no word had come. As the next day was Sunday, he didn’t think it wise to send a private message to Drummond’s rooms, and had determined to wait until he could dispatch a palace page to the House on Monday morning to make it all appear official.

Needless to say, Sunday had crawled by at a snail’s pace.

So, the first thing he had done this rainy Monday was send the short note he’d spent far too much time composing the previous afternoon:

        

> _Drummond,_
> 
> _I’ve received news from Scotland that must be relayed with all due speed. The matter begs immediate attention; delay would be deleterious._
> 
> _Please meet at Simpson’s on the Strand this evening at seven o’clock, if quite convenient._
> 
> _With regards,_
> 
> _Lord Alfred_

The page had returned with a barely discernible reply that answered precisely nothing:

  

> _Railway debate today; may go too late._
> 
> _Drummond_

While Alfred knew this wasn’t untrue, he had a disquieting suspicion that Edward was employing it as an excuse.

He found most troubling the absence of any valediction before Drummond’s name. Alfred had been so careful to include their agreed-upon “ _With regards_ ” in his signature—their code for the love they shared. Yet in reply, Edward wrote nothing but his name. Alfred didn’t know why, and it was killing him. Perhaps he was just too busy when he replied. The writing was barely legible, so he might have been rushed and unable to devote his full attention. While Alfred would not appreciate Edward’s neglect, a simple oversight would definitely be preferable to an intentional omission. The thought that he might have purposely withdrawn his affection was too painful to contemplate for any amount of time.

 

Monday had dragged on as Alfred tried to keep himself occupied. Every time he heard a noise in the palace corridor or saw a carriage pull up before the grand stone staircase, his heart skipped a beat wondering whether it might be Edward this time, or even simply a message from him. By late afternoon, Alfred had heard nothing more, and so sent a new note:

         

> _Drummond,_
> 
> _I will be at Simpson’s from seven o’clock, onward, and hope you will meet me there after the debate. If you are able to send word, please do._
> 
> _With regards,_
> 
> _Lord Alfred_

It was all he could think to do as he watched the clock hands creep along toward evening.

 

* * *

 

That is how he came to be seated restlessly at the Guards’ Club, with the clock reading half past eight. He was still waiting, and there was no sign of Edward yet—not even a word of explanation.

 

But he’d known— _hadn’t he?_ —that a life with Drummond would be a life of waiting. Surely, that’s all this was—waiting on the debate to end—waiting for him to make his way to their meeting place—nothing more—nothing to worry about—no reason to believe Edward was purposely avoiding him.

Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

 

“Lord Alfred? Are you quite well?”

 

He looked up to see his old school friend and fellow Guardsman, Charles Colville, standing before him.

 

“Colville. Good to see you. How have you been?” Alfred forced a smile and pulled himself to attention, although his eyes periodically scanned the door in hopes of Edward’s entrance.

 

“I’m well, and yourself? You appeared to be miles away. I trust nothing is the matter? Life at the palace rolls along swimmingly? Or I suppose I should say it gallops along apace…?” Colville laughed heartily.

 

That was Charles Colville, always a bit too amused by his own wit.

 

“All is well. I was just waiting on a friend. Would you care to keep me company for a drink?” He hadn’t thought about the words before they emerged from his mouth; it was simply habit to resort to his polished manners. Now that the invitation had been spoken, he fervently hoped Colville would decline; while their acquaintanceship was a friendly one, Alfred was hardly in the mood to make polite, frivolous conversation.

 

“Certainly, Lord Alfred. It would be delightful to catch up!”

 

Alfred groaned inwardly as Colville called to the bartender, “Whiskey, neat, my man.” He took a seat, and Alfred wished he were looking at Edward’s beautiful face right now, rather than Colville’s not unpleasant, but rather plain visage.

 

“The Prince has been making noises about a new helmet design, and I believe we will be his guinea pigs once it is unveiled. I’m a bit worried that he’ll be sacrificing our grandeur for his notions of practicality….”

and he prattled on about the woes of the 11th Hussars, Prince Albert’s regiment, as Alfred tried to listen but couldn’t fully track his words for all his thoughts of Edward.

 

“…must surely result in the degradation of the peerage….”

 

He really was trying to pay attention…

 

“…events have been disappointing…”

 

…but Colville had the notorious habit of droning on.

 

"...the season has been dismal…”

 

He barely seemed to pause even when his glass was at his lips.

 

“...no eligible young ladies of decent breeding….”

 

Alfred’s ears perked up.

 

“So, Colville, it sounds like you’re looking to settle down? No more famous exploits of ‘Charles the Charger’?” Charles had always made claims that far outstripped the reality of his life and adventures.

 

“Well, we all reach that time eventually, do we not? Unfortunately, I’ve found the young ladies this season to be rather lackluster.”

 

“Really?” Alfred replied. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve made the acquaintance of many fine young ladies. I suppose working at the palace has afforded me greater opportunities for it. In fact, there is a delightful—and eligible—young woman who serves as the Queen’s Maid of Honor. Miss Wilhelmina Coke. I wonder whether you’ve had the pleasure?”

 

“No, I can’t say that I have,” Colville replied, intrigued. “You’re not courting the young lady yourself, Lord Alfred?”

 

“Alas, I believe Miss Coke does not regard me as marital material,” Alfred fibbed. “We have become fine friends, nonetheless, and I can vouch for her good character and sweet disposition. I think you would find her quite refreshing.”

 

“Perhaps. Is she attending many events this season?”

 

“Why, yes, she is,” but Alfred was too impatient to wait on the next ball. He made the impetuous decision to forge ahead with his own plan. “But come to think of it, Colville, I’ve been planning a small dinner party at my home in Grosvenor Place. My father is coming to town at the end of the week, and I wish to welcome him with a modest soirée. You remember my father from our days at Harrow?”

 

“I do, indeed. A delightful man, even if he raised his children to join him on the wrong side of the political tracks,” Colville laughed. He was a Conservative, though not overly strident in his views.

 

“I believe Miss Coke will be in attendance”—he inwardly hoped he could assure her affirmative reply later—“and it would be an ideal opportunity to introduce you. If you are able to join us Thursday evening?”

 

“Thursday, yes, that will be fine.”

 

“Wonderful, Colville. I’ll dispatch an official invitation with details."

 

“Well, that is most delightful. But I believe I have kept you long enough,” he said at last, downing the final drop of his whiskey before rising. “Good to see you, Lord Alfred; how fortuitous this has been. I look forward to joining you and meeting the lovely Miss Coke.” He gave Alfred a small bow before departing.

 

Alfred breathed a sigh of relief that he was freed from Colville’s company. But now, of course, he had to put the pieces together for the promised dinner party. He began to think about the details, but as his eyes continued wandering to the door, he wondered whether there was still any need for his plan after all. He was doing this for their future, but did he and Edward even _have_ a future together? The uncertainty began to creep back in.

 

_Where in the world was he?_

 

The clock had already struck nine and was heading quickly toward quarter past, and Alfred’s concern rose with each new stroke. At last, he had reached his limit and made the second impetuous decision of the evening. It was more reckless than he would have liked, yet he felt he had no choice.

He was fairly certain no one followed him as he made his way through the London streets—he took a circuitous route, slipping in and out of shadows along the way, golden hair obscured by his dark stovepipe hat. The entry to the building wasn’t terribly well lit, a fact for which he was grateful. He had never been here before, yet recognized it well by the description. He knew his destination was the second floor; as he climbed the stairs, he wondered with trepidation what he might find.

He feared his knock had been too soft to hear, but within moments, the door opened far enough for him to be looking directly at Edward, who was clearly shocked to see Alfred standing on his threshold.

“Alfred!” he exclaimed, a bit too loudly. Alfred held his fingers to his lips and pushed past him into the room. He had no intention of standing on ceremony, particularly if it meant allowing Edward to turn him away without answers.

He appeared to have interrupted him in the process of preparing for bed. He stood barefoot with his suspenders already hanging at his sides, shirt untucked and unbuttoned. Alfred could see his nightshirt strewn on the back of a nearby chair, beyond which the bedroom door was open, giving him a first glimpse of the corner of Edward’s bed. He glanced around the small ante room, but couldn’t properly take it in. When he turned back to Edward, he had closed the door to the hall and was leaning on it, forehead pressed against the dark wood and eyes closed, as if he were in pain.

“A Corn Laws vote may go late, but a simple railway debate? Until after nine o’clock? Were you there this whole time?”

 

Silence.

“What is wrong, Edward? Are you avoiding me? What happened at the palace Saturday? I’ve been worried sick.”

“I’m sorry, Alfred.” He continued standing as he was, eyes closed. Was that a tear on his cheek? Alfred stepped closer to look, pulling Edward away from the door and turning him by the shoulders to face him directly. He noted with alarm that his lashes were moist and a tear was indeed slipping down one cheek. Edward seemed unable to meet Alfred’s eyes.

“I don’t understand, Edward. Talk to me. What in the world is all this about?”

“I didn’t think you’d still be at the Guard’s Club by the time the debate ended,” he offered weakly, still avoiding Alfred's eyes. It wasn’t in the least bit convincing.

“And you didn’t bother to see if I was there? You just came home instead? Not even a message? No, you’re not telling me everything.” Alfred was feeling less worry and more anger with each passing moment; this is not the kind of response he ever would have expected from his Edward… but perhaps he wasn’t _his_ , after all...?“I risked too much to come here, but I cannot bear this silence. After you left the palace so abruptly…. I know something is wrong. You _must_ tell me!” It was everything he could do not to raise his voice.

Edward walked away and slumped into the nearest chair, dropping his head in his hands. He still hadn’t met Alfred’s eyes.

“I know. I owe you much. I don’t know where to begin.”

Alfred’s heart fell. This sounded like the beginning of a goodbye. But surely that was not possible…. He stood as still as a statue, awaiting Edward’s explanation. A pregnant silence followed, during which he felt he might burst. But he was determined not to say the next words; it was Edward’s turn to lay his cards on the table. Alfred had never wanted to lose his heart, and he was damned if he’d lose his dignity as well.

At last, Edward lifted his head and looked at him.

“I’m still not entirely sure what happened. I was so happy Saturday morning, Alfred. I felt like a new man… like you had opened the world to me. But then when I came to the palace, everything suddenly felt different. I was so distracted with love for you, even more than I'd ever been before. I needed to hold you, but I couldn’t. And then I realized I didn’t know when I’d even be able to again. And it just seemed impossible to live this way. To choose this life.”

Alfred was torn between sympathy and aggravation. What had Edward expected when he resolved to be with Alfred? “And do you see this as a choice, Edward? You have _chosen_ to love me? I’m so honored,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Alfred, please, don’t….”

“Don’t what?” He was fully angry now, pacing the floor and struggling to keep his voice down. “This is no choice for me, Edward. And yet I was ready to walk away, to let you go and have your life with Florence, to make Scotland a beautiful memory that would mean nothing more. It was you— _you—_ who wouldn’t let it go. _You_ whose life flashed before your eyes and gave you absolute resolve. What happened to that clarity you spoke of, Edward?”

“I wouldn’t go back to a life with Florence,” Edward looked at him indignantly. “I don’t want that anymore. It’s you or no one, Alfred. You or no one—do you hear? I just hadn’t understood how painful it would be… how _hard_ ….”

“Yes, it’s _hard._ Of course it is,” Alfred replied with exasperation. “Did you honestly not know that?”

“I suppose I hadn’t, not really. I knew it here,” he pointed to his head, “but I didn’t understand how it would _feel_.” Alfred looked at the ceiling impatiently, ready to bite back with his words before Edward cut him off. “It brought to mind things I hadn’t thought about in years….” And he began to tell Alfred about the torment of that night: reliving the memory of his sister’s death and the horrible recurring dream, and being overtaken by an unshakeable fear that he and Alfred would always be living a life where happiness was just out of reach.

 

Alfred stood still and listened as patiently as he could manage. He understood more than he had, but while it explained Edward’s behavior, as far as he was concerned, it didn’t excuse any of it.

“Do you imagine you are the only one who has ever suffered a cruel loss? I've known my share of heartache. Why do you suppose I never wanted to fall in love? Hmmmm?” Alfred resumed his angry pacing. “I am sorry for our situation—you must know I feel it, too. All that morning before you arrived at the palace I’d been stewing over having to kick you out before daylight, as if we were trespassers in _my_ house. I could barely choke down the indignity—that we cannot be safe and carefree together, not even behind closed doors… not even in the sanctuary of _my own home._ Of course that’s hard. Of course it is! Have I not been telling you that? But what, then, are our choices? We continue or we don’t. We snatch joy where we can, or we give it up entirely and go back to living our… half lives, I think you called it. So are you just going to walk away now, after everything you’ve said to me? After you’ve convinced me that I could love you? That I would be safe with you?”

Edward’s eyes were on the floor as Alfred waited for a response. He finally felt he’d endured all he could, and began to take firm steps toward the door. He had barely heard or seen Edward make a move when suddenly he was standing before the door, blocking Alfred from opening it.

“Let me by.”

“I can’t, Alfred. I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. I’m sorry. You know, I think what shook me most is how jealous I was of Miss Coke. It makes no sense. I know you don’t feel for her as you do for me, and yet there she was, speaking with you as though she had some prior claim, as though _I_ were the interloper in _her_  duet. To see her touch your arm so... possessively, and to know that I could never touch you, even in that simple way, in front of anyone. It made our circumstances so much more real to me. We will always be pretending and dissembling...”

“With others, yes, of course.”

“But not with each other,” Edward whispered urgently, gently grasping Alfred’s shoulders. “And that’s the point, isn’t it? That's enough. I was feeling too sorry for myself to remember that we will have each other to be fully ourselves with.”

“ _Do_ we have each other, though?” Alfred threw Edward’s hands off his shoulders and stared him down. “Do I have you— _really_ —if this is all it takes to shake you from me? The other night I said I felt certain about you, but I don’t feel certain now.” Alfred closed his eyes and sighed wearily as he fought back his own tears. He had an inexplicable urge to torture Edward, just as he had been. He wanted to hold onto his pain so he might maintain his resolve and walk out the door and make Edward feel the same kind of agony he had felt over the last two days…. “I think you should step aside and let me leave now.”

 

He opened his eyes and saw Edward looking at him with alarm, unable or unwilling to budge.

 

"Drummond, please…."

His formal name appeared to hit him like an actual blow, as he recoiled from the sound. “No, Alfred! I need you. Please. It’s just that… I hadn’t experienced any of it yet… not since we became lovers.” Alfred tried to step around Edward to reach the door handle, but he fell to his knees and grabbed Alfred’s hands to keep him there. “I felt so much more for you than I ever imagined I could… so much more love… somehow it made all those obstacles feel worse. It just overwhelmed me. The whole last—what?—the last month has been such a whirlwind. It’s as if my life was upended and everything had to be re-created. But I love you, Alfred. I love you with all my heart. Please, don't leave me.”

 

Alfred closed his eyes, feeling defeated and exhausted; he couldn’t leave, but he wasn’t yet sure he could bring himself to trust Edward again. How could he be certain this wouldn’t happen in the future? How could he know Edward wouldn’t be spooked by their trials and all the indignities they would undoubtedly face over and over? He wanted to feel certain again, but wasn’t sure it was possible now that he’d seen how Edward could waver….

 

“I don’t know. I don’t know that I can trust you anymore.”

 

Edward looked down at the floor; his voice was shaky as if he were fighting back tears without much success. “I know this has shaken you, I know it’s shaken your faith in me… I’m so sorry. I'm so sorry I put you through this.…” As he looked back up, Alfred saw the desperation in his face, “but now I _do_ know, I _do_ understand. It’s not the easy path, but if you’re with me, I know I can do this... I can be worthy of your love... I know I can.”

Of course, Edward had been in his own agony, hadn’t he? Surely, Alfred understood how hard this must be… how new these feelings were to Edward…. Alfred had years of practice at managing forbidden desires and maintaining a public façade, but it was all new to Edward, wasn’t it?

The argument raged inside Alfred’s head: _hurt him and leave…? forgive him and stay…?_

He looked again into those dark eyes, damp with threatening tears, staring back at him beneath furrowed brows. It was clear that Edward was already tormented, and Alfred felt himself soften. _Damn these emotions! How am I supposed to stay angry with him?_

_"_ I love you, Alfred; I don’t want to lose you. Please. Please stay.”

_He’s so lovely, even when he's sad…._

Alfred removed a hand from Drummond’s grip and stroked his cheek, wiping away the tear that was drying there before whispering quietly, “Stand up, Edward, and hold me.”

 


End file.
